Glossy waxed leaves turn to face the sunlight which filters through the concrete clouds. Upon the gentle touch, photosynthesis resumes. Hungry for more precious photons for the chloroplasts. Hungry and wild. Ravenous and rabid.
A sparkling droplet of early morning rain disruptively crashes onto one particular leaf. A leaf usually lost in the crowded populace of the Mother Tree. Nothing too definitive about it save for a touch of mottling and this disturbing droplet. Still, the leaf carries on it's destined duties, continuing the conversion of sunlight and gas for another form of energy and matter, safe under the cuticle which covers it. The droplet decides to slide off to fall to the intended target, the Earth, who will embrace and swallow it down into the depths of it's soul.
The roots of the Mother Tree crawling blindly through the darkness in the hope of feeding from the Earth's hidden fruits, through the gift of osmosis this droplet and Earth present after their most Holy union.
In time the particular leaf aforementioned will have made room for more coworkers, clamouring hungrily for the light. A hard ball seemed to appear so quickly and quietly but day after day nothing else changed. Nothing else out of the ordinary. The same cycle of biosynthesis repeated over and over all for the Mother Tree.
And then one day a sliver of pale pink peeked out from the womb of the hard ball. Ever so slowly as the days repeated the dainty pink emerged, unfolding into petal upon petal, a rounded delicate beauty.
The leaves worked still in the presence of this wonder, energy converted to feed the Glorious one. In mornings she shed her robe of sparkling dew and danced gracefully with the breeze. And each day she grew more beautiful and heavy with joy.
The breeze grew tired of dancing the same dance with her. She was too beautiful and too great to partner with. Breeze violently morphed into a wicked wind and pressed suddenly into her body. Enough was enough. And with the sleight of his hand she dropped to Earth, with all the weight of her beauty which betrayed her.
The members of the Mother Tree had no time to mourn their fallen counterpart. Work had to continue as she rotted slowly to pieces of Earth.
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"So Get On That Bus Now...And Ride It On Home...Alone In The Backseat, With No Telephone." - Alex Lloyd 'Busride'
Note
All literary content of blogs posted herein are in no way to be recreated or published anywhere else by any means without sole written approval of the author.
Bus Stop Passengers
Current Music Tracks on The Bus
What We Started - Alex Lloyd
Praise - Sevendust
Die Alive - Tarja
Praise - Sevendust
Die Alive - Tarja
About Me
- Holly
- I am on a long bus ride home. The stops along the way consume the travel time.
3 comments:
And then the whole process begins again.
Beautiful writing, Holly.
As an after thought, reading again what I write, I can't help but feel it's symbolic of Russia. Or at least Russia back in the day of the Bolsheviks. It wasn't my intended irony, yet, somehow it now speaks volumes.
Thanks Brucie dear. The ending could have used the same substance as the start but I just had to get it all out before it got lost in my mind.
The ending reminded me of a poem by Lew Welch called "Chicago Poem". Totally different, but a similar feel.I thought it was really necessary that way, like a sudden pulling-up into an awareness of the decay that's at the end of the cycle of growth.
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